Confession

Okay, deep breath, here we go..I mailed something for a stranger today. I can almost hear the collective gasp, the thought--how could she? Well, it started innocently enough. I was crossing the street to my car with a flat rate package under my arm, when an approaching car slowed, and then stopped. The window rolled down and a middle-aged woman leaned out. "Do you work for the Post Office?" she asked. "No," I responded, "I am just on my way to the Post Office." "Well in that case," she said, "would you mind mailing something for me?"

I hesitated. "You mean like a letter?"

"Some birthday cards."

"Well...okay."

She pulled them from her dash and handed me three Hallmark-like envelopes, waved, and cheerily sped off.

I looked at them--her return address from two blocks from my house and one of the cards was going to a Very Reverend somebody in Milwaukee. I took them to the Post Office. I mailed them.

What kind of person entrusts their mail to a total stranger? Well, Constance somebody from down the street. What kind of person accepts mail from a stranger? Apparently me.

What does this mean? Well, I think it means that the terrorists haven't won. Unless they have. In which case, I know nothing.